


Bittersweet

by Sevanadium



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Oneshot, Polyamorous relationship, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevanadium/pseuds/Sevanadium
Summary: Gilbert enjoys the holiday season with Francis and Antonio, he enjoys their friendship, the (somewhat terrible at times) gifts that they give each other, Francis' ability to make the best roast potatoes. Even with impending loneliness, he feels content.Except for when he gets the kind of loneliness he wasn't expecting.





	Bittersweet

The old and rusted fire escape creaked in rude objection to Gilbert’s weight as he vaulted himself out of the window and landed on it with a thud. When he got back inside he would take the bottle of champagne away from the pile of presents under the tree. Francis did not deserve $50 worth of champagne after he chased Gilbert from the house because, apparently, his disgusting smoking habit would ruin the entire meal that he had spent the last three hours on.

 

Gilbert shook his head and grabbed the box of Marlboro cigarettes from his back pocket. He pushed the sides of the box and the plastic cover crinkled as it unsquashed itself.

 

Damn Francis for tossing his already lit cigarette out the window and into the alley Gilbert looked into at that moment. Gilbert planned on not giving Antonio his gift either. The man hadn’t done anything except open a bleary eye enough to show a sliver of grassy green that watched the entire scene fold out.

 

Gilbert did admit that a shirtless and sleepy Antonio could melt the clothes off of a store mannequin even.Though it didn’t calm the annoyance he felt towards both the Spaniard and the Frenchman. Freezing his balls off on Christmas morning while they enjoyed the semi-warm apartment did not place high on the list of things that Gilbert wanted to do in his life. In fact is had its place somewhere near the bottom, right along with going diving with piranhas while naked.

 

He lit the cigarette, brought it to his lips and inhaled, smoke filling his lungs with cancer or some other disease. After his entire body relaxed from his first nicotine fix in a few days he shoved the lighter and box into his front pocket. This was the first pack he had been able to afford in days and Gilbert did not want to waste all of it by steamrollering them into the snow on the fire escape with his arse.

 

The cold air started on its endless torture and Gilbert had only been there for a few minutes. He sniffed periodically and the back of his throat stung. Winter didn’t usually suck arse so badly. Usually, he would be able to sit in these sorts of temperatures with a T-shirt and feel the slightest bit of cold — at least that was the story he told everyone.

 

Gilbert held the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb and brought up for another drag. He breathed in the smoke and held it for a few seconds before breathing out and letting the smoke mix with the mist from his breath in an undecipherable swirl of greys. Surely smoke from something burning something would warm him up?

 

But no, all it caused was a shuddering wet cough that left him in tears and his cigarette barely in his grip. He hated winter with its snow, the cold and the sicknesses that came with it.

 

He lived with his two equally as broke friends in an apartment in a part of New York that was infested with rats. Nice large ones that could be mistaken for a racoon. The temptation had been strong and eight or so months ago, Gilbert attempted to cage one and keep it as a pet.

 

Not that Francis allowed a ‘filthy rodent with no other place than a garbage can’ in his (their) house. The funeral for Snuffles had been a solemn one and every time he passed the dumpster to the left of their apartment he would pat his head, shoulders, and heart in an approximation of what Antonio would do.

 

Gilbert chuckled, tears still dripping down his face like icicles down a ski ramp. He did find Antonio adorable when he did that. He would get all serious and his eyes would narrow as he moved his hands in a well-practised pattern.

 

Smoke drifted lazily from the cigarette to join the tiny snowflakes that floated around him. The road had a thin layer of snow and black tyre marks indicating what direction people have come from and which way they would go.

 

Serenity washed over Gilbert. The smell of the turkey cooking wafted through the open window, ebbing and flowing. His grey-white shoe laces blended in with the snow. Regret over not tying his laces before coming out washed over him as they were soaked and planned on attacking his socks next.

 

He stubbed the remains of the cigarette into the snow and listened for the barely there hiss as the ember made contact with the snow. Gilbert stood, flicked the stump, and caused it to soar in a dolphin-like arc that almost made it to the road, and dusted the snow off his pants.

 

To sit in the snow in the middle of winter with the flu threatening to force him off work had been an incredibly idiotic idea. He let the thought stay outside as he clambered inside and shut the window after himself. The apartment felt somewhat warm but if he had closed the window he jumped out of it would have been delightfully warm instead of somewhat.

 

Though if he did close the window he would be unable to open it again from the outside — his habit of biting his nails kept them too short to get a proper grip underneath the window pane — and when he did manage to yell loud enough to get Francis’, Antonio’s or the neighbour’s attention, they would just laugh and point downwards as Gilbert drooped his shoulders and clenched his fists in preparation for the fourteen-story trek, comprised of seven stories in each direction.

 

He closed the window behind him and the entire apartment felt a few degrees warmer within moments. A trick of his mind, they had nothing to warm it up other than their own body heat and the stove which was used sparingly as a treat for them and they would huddle in front of it on rickety three-legged barstools and with a glass of something to warm them up, whether it be hot chocolate or something with a bit more oomph.

 

“Looking good, Franny.” Gilbert winked. Francis hated that nickname, and Gilbert loved it because of that. He leaned against the doorframe and watched Francis as he bent over and checked on the cooking food.

 

“Merci, last year’s gift is finally getting some use, I say it looks wonderful on me, no?” Francis asked. He straightened and took the worn oven mitts off his hands and tossed them on the countertop. He wore an apron over his usual clothes with a hot pink ‘Kiss the cook’ printed in ornate cursive.

 

Last year Gilbert had been able to afford nothing but handmade cards and discount bin specials like the apron he got Francis, this year the gifts were at least three million times better. They were booze, what would one expect?

 

“I wasn’t talking about the apron. I mean the turkey, it looks damn hot in there.” Gilbert waggled his eyebrows and ignored Francis’ hand batting his own away from the oven door as he opened it to check on the turkey.

 

It looked good, if anything, Francis knew his way around their kitchen that was barely large enough to fit an eight-year-old girl. Francis made the most wonderful meals with minimal effort and it left Gilbert — and Antonio as well — jealous.

 

“Mon cher, you hurt my feelings!” Francis slapped a hand over his heart and swooned. If it were not for the small smirk playing at the corners of his lips, Gilbert would have believed him. Not that he cared too much about hurting Francis’ feelings. The man had bounced back relatively fast after his gruesome breakup with Arthur after an unhealthy amount of ice-cream and French art movies.

 

“I’m dying of hunger. When can we carve this beast up?” Gilbert asked. Francis forced the oven door shut, the wave of warm air felt good as it gusted over Gilbert’s face and reminded him of how cold he still was.

 

“Give me fifteen minutes. You can set the table and wake up ‘Tonio.” Francis shooed Gilbert out of the kitchen and into the lounge with a wave of one of their four large plates.

 

Gilbert wrinkled his nose at the sight of the lounge. Empty takeaway containers littered every horizontal surface (Chinese, pizza, McDonald’s, you name it) and empty bottles were lined up along the sides of the couch and table.

 

Antonio slept on the two-seater couch. The three-seater couch had been lost to a freak accident involving thirty-two shots of tequila, a llama, and a harmonica. It was something Gilbert tried to push to the corner of his mind and out of his memories, but it kept sneaking up at the most inopportune times. Like in the job interview he had three months ago.

 

The man’s legs stuck off the end and he had slipped down so his head was no longer leaned on the armrest but on the brown striped seat. His mouth hung open and a thread of drool inched its way towards the pillow.

 

He looked at peace in his slumber. Naturally, Gilbert did what every man must when met with a sleeping Antonio.

 

“WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY YOU’RE GOING TO MISS THE BALL!” Gilbert yelled and bashed the bottom of an empty wine bottle against the end table next to Antonio’s head a few times.

 

Antonio sat up, his eyes bloodshot and wide, not focusing on anything. “Just lemme get my slippers and tiara,” He strangled out and fell off the couch in a tangle of blankets.

 

Gilbert lost the internal battle and then his shit. He cackled with laughter as Antonio burrowed his way out of the blanket prison. Francis said something in the kitchen, but Gilbert didn’t pay attention to it.

 

“You should have seen your face,” Gilbert said between peals of laughter. He pushed a few takeaway containers to the side and sat down on the end table that wobbled under his weight.

 

Antonio blinked a few more times. “That’s unfair, man, you don’t wake someone from their siesta like that.”

 

“You gotta admit it was funny. Your tiara and slippers? No man in his right mind would go to a ball in slippers — what if it snowed?” Gilbert’s lips lifted into a predatory grin.

 

“But the dolphin slippers are so comfy.” Antonio pulled the blankets up to his chin.

 

“My dolphin slippers,” Gilbert corrected. But they were comfortable, with their glittery exterior and dolphin tail on the heel. The googly eyes bounced in joy whenever either him, or Antonio wore them and Francis would laugh his deep chuckle that he reserved for them only and Gilbert would find himself laughing with Francis no matter how he felt. That laugh of his was addictive.

 

“Anyways—” Gilbert tried to rip the blankets off Antonio and failed—”Get these damn blankets off you. Franny’s just finished cooking and unless you want to go without dinner you better get up now.”

 

“Fine,” Antonio acquiesced and managed to dig his way out of the blankets. He stood and stumbled as he walked to Francis in the kitchen.

 

Gilbert followed, still laughing, and resumed his previous position of leaning against the door frame.

 

“And what about setting the table?” Francis asked. He turned to the pile of plates and cutlery already set out on the kitchen counter.

 

“Yes, what about  setting the table?” Antonio mimicked Francis and put his hands on his hips in the most adorable attempt at a pout Gilbert had seen yet.

 

Gilbert threw his hands into the air, and the sleeves of his sweater fell down his forearms. “Lest I forget to dump the empty pizza boxes on the ground and dump the plates onto the table.”

 

He pulled the sleeves of his sweater to their original position. Bought for less than $10 on a bargain sale, it had ‘Merry Christmas’ stitched onto it and a repeating pattern of two reindeers kissing. What made it his favourite would be because of the fact that Santa’s reindeer were female, meaning he had a gay reindeer Christmas sweater. Classic.

 

The three plates were light and he carried them to the lounge with one hand. He used the other one to knock all the boxes off the table and towards the Christmas tree. Its lights flashed merrily and its tinsel hung innocently, unknowing of the mouldy mess that tumbled towards it.

 

“I’m done guys. You better be bringing out the nosh now.” Gilbert sat were Antonio had been sleeping a few moments before and crossed his legs, his ankle resting on his knee and put his arm on the back of it.

 

“Hold your horses, I’m bringing the food now,” Antonio called out and true to his word he came out a few moments later with four plates balanced between his two arms. Roast potatoes and Brussel sprouts adorned his left arm while a variety of other vegetables and the condiments balanced precariously on his right.

 

Gilbert stood and took the plate bearing the condiments from Antonio. “You could have asked for help.”

 

“Ay, but I do this every day for work,” Antonio said and put the plates down on the table.

 

Antonio worked as a waiter at Rosa’s, a restaurant tucked away in a little nook that would be found only if one knew exactly where to look. Despite that, the restaurant made a killing on Friday nights and Antonio came home with more in tips than he made in the entire week. Not that his wages were that high.

 

“Where’s the turkey? Francis didn’t mess it up, did he?” Gilbert grabbed a plate from the pile and held it against his chest, the edge pushing uncomfortably into his ribcage.

 

Francis laughed, he held the plate with the turkey on it and waltzed into the lounge. “Because I would mess up something as easy as a turkey. I told you I finished a few minutes ago when you woke up Antonio”

 

Antonio took a plate for himself and shook his head. “You act like everything’s easy. I don’t have to remind you of the cake you made for Gil’s birthday.”

 

“Baking is very different to cooking. With cooking it’s an art; when to add the spice, how long to wait until its caramelized perfectly. I use my instinct and let it guide me. Baking, it a science,” Francis said.

 

“Whatever makes you sleep easy dude.” Gilbert shrugged. He made for the carving knife only to have his hand smacked away by an irate Francis.

 

“Shall I remind you of the last time I let you use a knife?” A smirk played at Francis’ lips.

 

“Don’t you still have the scars?” Antonio asked. He sat on the edge of the couch seat, eyes still drooping from tiredness.

 

Gilbert nodded. “I do… But they’re nearly gone!” It amazed him how he’d only had to go to the hospital a few times in his life for all the idiotic injuries he had gotten over all of his twenty-five years of living. The Knife Incident involved him heating one up with a lighter to see if it really was easier to cut butter with a hot knife (it was). The ‘incident’ part came from when he forgot about the red-hot knife and had sat down on it.

 

Francis and Antonio laughed and Gilbert had no choice but to join in. Not because of fitting in and all of the social norms he paid no attention to, but rather because it was nigh impossible to stay angry at either of them. Especially when it came to make up sex.

 

Gilbert made a noise of protest when Francis grabbed the knife from his grip. It wasn’t a proper carving knife by any means — just a bread knife that had been run along a whetstone so much that Gilbert deemed it capable of cutting air. Not that he was allowed to swing a knife around anymore, but that rule came from a different Knife Incident.

 

“You do want turkey, don’t you?” Francis asked and Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. “Then don’t complain. You two can start dishing up while I carve it.” Francis lifted the bread knife and began cutting the turkey with relative ease, even with the knife being wholly unsuited for the task it had been set.

 

It didn’t take long before Francis had cut the turkey into thin slices. He set the knife down and stood from the kneeling position he had taken while he carved the turkey.

 

Gilbert handed Francis a plate with a large helping of vegetables and roast potatoes on it, with a few Brussel sprouts. “I dished up for you so you can’t complain about having to wait for our slow arses.”

 

“Thank you, but you two were told dish up first. It would be rude of the cook to take his own food from his guests.”

 

“We’re not guests, we live here,” Antonio said. He picked up a fork and stabbed it into the piece of turkey that Gilbert had been eyeing. “But if you guys are gonna act like you have manners and keep saying ‘no you hang up’ but with a turkey, I’ll just start dishing up.”

 

Antonio took a few more pieces with most of them being the ones that Gilbert planned on taking. He passed the fork to Gilbert and drizzled a healthy amount of gravy onto his plate. He leaned back into the couch and rested the plate on his knees.

 

“I don’t know about you guys but I’m starting now.” Antonio cut a mouthful of the succulent turkey and put it in his mouth. His eyes closed and he let out an inappropriate groan.

 

“Save it for the bedroom,” Gilbert said snarkily. He stabbed a few pieces of turkey and added them to his own plate — next to an unhealthy helping of potatoes drenched in gravy and a spattering of vegetables. No Brussel sprouts were found near his plate.

 

Francis held his plate tightly and waited in silence. After a few moments he cleared his throat and Gilbert looked up from the most amazing meal he had eaten in months.

 

“Are you forgetting something?” Francis asked, eyebrow lifted. No matter how much Gilbert tried he could never quirk an eyebrow the same way that Francis could. With a simple twitch of a few muscles, Francis could convey so many emotions — sarcasm, lust, surprise — all Gilbert could convey was mild constipation.

 

What was he forgetting? It couldn’t have been presents, they’d been under the tree for nearly a week at this point. Nor could it have been grace or something of the sorts. They hadn’t prayed before a meal since they had last eaten with Antonio’s family a few years ago.

 

He put a forkful of potatoes in his mouth and two things dawned upon him. The first was despite Francis’ apparent distaste for potatoes, he sure knew how to make them. The second being that he had just shovelled a mouthful of potatoes into his mouth using the serving fork.

 

Gilbert smiled bashfully and gave a fork to Francis — after licking it.

 

“Where’d my fork go then?” Gilbert asked and looked at the table to see if he hadn’t picked it up.

 

Through a mouthful of turkey, Antonio spoke, “You’re sitting on it, smartass.”

 

“Danke,” Gilbert replied. He felt around him for the fork and found it nestled between his thigh and the couch. He picked it up gratefully and proceeded to load more potatoes than should be able to fit onto it. Somehow, he then made the potato mountain fit into his mouth.

 

The food tasted amazing and was among some of the best things that Gilbert had placed in his mouth, even if not all the items were food. Francis had mastered the art of subtle layering flavours until they created a detailed watercolour painting with mashed potato, turkey, and vegetables.

 

“This is so good!” Gilbert said after he had scarfed down the roast potatoes.

 

“Thank you. I am glad you think so,” Francis said. He ate daintily with his arms held at his sides and he cut his food into small bites before he even thought of placing it in his mouth. Gilbert could never understand why Francis always had to be so mannered. At least he never forced him nor Antonio to eat like him and left them to eat however they wished.

 

“Coming from Gil that’s not much of a compliment,” Antonio said, his plate already nearly half finished. “He’d eat potatoes off the side of the road if he found them there.”

 

Gilbert narrowed his eyes and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “I would never do something like that.”

 

Francis smirked. “You already have. Remember last year when you were dared to eat the —”

 

“You don’t have to bring up the time you dared me to eat the potato that ‘Tonio stood in.” Gilbert cut him off.

 

“Well, you did eat it. I recall that was also the day that the septic tank at the apartment leaked into the road,” Antonio said.

 

Gilbert gagged. Even if it did gross him out, it had been in the past and he could not do a thing about it. So he continued to eat.

 

“I can’t believe you two sometimes.” Francis leaned back in the floral-patterned armchair (their furniture having come from various trips to second-hand stores and garage sales) and crossed his legs.

 

“You were the one that dared me,” Gilbert pointed out.

 

“And you were the one that did it.”

 

“Shut up. At least I don’t use women’s shampoo.”

 

Francis blanched. “Don’t you dare bring up my choice of shampoo in such a vile manner.”

 

“You’ve got to admit,” Antonio started. “It does give his hair volume and the most wonderful strawberry smell. When I use it my hair stays silky soft for days.”

 

“So you’re the shampoo thief. I thought it was Gilbert but it turns out to be you?” Francis glared at Antonio, his mouth pulled tight and his knife held threateningly.

 

Gilbert turned to Francis. “You thought it was me? There is no way that I want my hair to smell like strawberries, coconut all the way man.”

 

Francis ignored Gilbert in favour of interrogating Antonio. “Do you or did you not use my shampoo?”

 

A small chuckle escaped Gilbert. If there was one thing that Francis took seriously, that would be his cosmetic products. Gilbert learned his lesson back in high school when he stole Francis’ comb and later found teeth in places they shouldn’t be. The teeth of the comb that is, not human teeth.

 

The tension in the air rose like the smell of Francis’ strawberry shampoo. Gilbert looked between Francis and Antonio. Francis looked at ease, a smug look on his face and his knife twirling between his fingers threateningly. Something about the nonchalance that Francis displayed made Gilbert feel a bit hot under the collar.

 

Until he turned to Antonio. The man sweated buckets, a sheen on his face even in the throes of winter and his fingers twisted painfully around his own utensils. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally spoke.

 

“I did use your shampoo.” He bit his lower lip and looked everywhere except at Francis.

 

Gilbert held his breath as he waited to see if Francis would go off on a rant about how uncouth it was to use another man’s hygiene products without permission and that if it were him he would not have even thought about it at all. Quite hypocritical, as Francis used Gilbert’s toothbrush by accident quite often and Gilbert had never brought it up once.

 

A growl escaped Francis’ throat, “You’re lucky that you smell so absolutely delicious when you use my shampoo or else I would have turned your head into a pot roast months ago.”

 

Antonio visibly relaxed. His shoulders dropped back and his grip loosened. That had been lucky, Gilbert concluded.

 

“But Gilbert, you do not suit Old Spice at all.”

 

Now Francis’ ire was turned on him at full force.

 

“W-What do you mean?” He asked. Was this how Antonio had felt just a few seconds ago?

 

“I mean what I said. Do you think I have no nose like Voldemort?” The ‘t’ at the end of Voldemort remained silent, the way it was meant to be said, according to Francis. Gilbert did not think that Francis didn’t have a nose at all. In fact, he had a very nice one. A bit sharper than what could be considered the norm for handsome but it Gilbert loved it nonetheless. It was thinner and longer than his own blobby nose and there were times that Gilbert just wanted to lick a stripe right up it—

 

He pulled himself away from wandering into dangerous territory and just shook his head mutely.

 

“Then do you think that I wouldn’t be able to tell when you used it before you went to a club?” Francis asked.

 

“But you’re always in the bathroom when I leave,” Gilbert tried.

 

“We always go clubbing together though,” Antonio pointed out.

 

“I don’t need your input. Go and continue shoving all the best bits of the dumb turkey in your mouth!”

 

Antonio placed his empty plate on the table. “You guys were the ones that didn’t dish up straight away.” He stretched and fell back into the couch and his eyes fluttered closed.

 

“You’re not falling asleep before we open up the gifts,” Francis scolded.

 

Antonio opened one eye, “You woke me up from my nap earlier.”

 

“Actually I did, but surely you want to see what I got for you. It’s uber awesome, I swear.” Gilbert shoved Antonio and forced him to have to put a hand out to stop himself from falling face first into the arm of the couch.

 

“You guys win, but only if you continue with shouting at Gilbert for using your deodorant.” Antonio crossed his arms.

 

“But that’s over To-o-oni,” Gilbert said. His hand still rested on Antonio’s shoulder, he let it drop and picked up the fork he had dropped so that he could shove him.

 

“And so’s my siesta.” Antonio did not look very happy and Gilbert thought it was adorable.

 

“You excited for my gift?” Gilbert turned to face Francis.

 

Francis looked over at the Christmas tree, a few presents lay under it. Two wrapped in sleep silver wrapping paper (Francis’s gifts), two bottle-shaped presents wrapped in old wrapping paper with brightly coloured animals prancing on it. Gilbert had never been one to waste good wrapping paper, even if it was meant for preschoolers schoolbooks. The two wrapped in newspaper were from Antonio. None of them complained and Antonio got to keep a few more cents in his pocket — and later dole them out for the rent. A third gift from Gilbert also sat under the tree. It was for when Ludwig came to visit the day afterwards.

 

“If it’s alcohol then I’ll be more than happy to open it,” Francis said after he examined the gifts.

 

“Jeez man, you’re just about an alcoholic,” Antonio said. He smiled playfully and his hand rested on Gilbert’s knee. Gilbert knew that if he didn’t have a plate of food in his lap Antonio would have moved his hands out the way to allow his head to rest in Gilbert’s lap. Not that Gilbert would ever complain about that.

 

“No, I am not. I just like to have a glass every now and then,” Francis replied.

 

“Yeah, sure man,” Gilbert said.

 

Out of all of them, Gilbert was the least accustomed to touching. Francis always initiated a hug, a kiss, or other things while Antonio always positioned himself so that at least some part of his body touched either Francis or Gilbert. Gilbert, on the other hand, he never initiated physical contact.

 

Where he had grown up it was frowned upon if he ever went up to someone and hugged them or even lifted his hands in a high five. He would have loved to blame it one German stuffiness, but that would never work. Other German families he saw were fine when it came to the whole being comfortable with others thing — it was just his own fucked up family.

 

Francis shook his head.

 

They didn’t want to get into one of their hour-long squabbles on Christmas day of all things and Gilbert agreed with Francis’ train of thought. He just finished with his food and placed it on top of Antonio’s plate after scraping the leftovers from Antonio’s onto his. The knives and forks were placed neatly and now both Gilbert and Antonio waited for Francis to finish eating.

 

It would not be a long wait. Antonio ate the fastest out of the three of them with Gilbert being a close second. Francis took his time with eating but it when it came to dessert the man would put away enough to make Antonio and Gilbert ill.

 

“Hurry up Francis,” Antonio whined. He stretched again and leaned into Gilbert’s shoulder. Gilbert lifted his arm and wrapped it around the man. Just because he never initiated physical contact did not mean he hated it. In fact, quite the opposite was true.

 

“I’ll be done when I’m done,” Francis said simply and placed another forkful of Brussel sprouts into his mouth. Gilbert couldn’t understand how the man ate them without making a variety of faces and vague disgusted noises. But whatever blew his hair back.

 

Not that Francis would appreciate his beautiful lustrous locks being blown back after the forty minutes he spent in the bathroom every morning, insisting that his hair needed to look just right or else his entire day would be ruined.In Gilbert’s opinion, Francis looked best after he had just woken up and had a cup of coffee expertly brewed by Antonio and had run his fingers through his hair a few times, giving him the ultimate bed head.

 

“But surely you can chew faster?” Antonio asked.

 

“And risk choking like you two buffoons?”

 

Gilbert laughed loudly, “f anything you’re the buffoon.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Francis set his knife and fork down neatly on his plate now that he was finished.

 

“Well, you did just call us that and ‘buffoon’ is like the silliest insult ever,” Gilbert said.

 

“What about nincompoop?” Antonio asked.

 

“That is a good one as well, reserved for only the biggest of fucktards, like Francis when he forgets to close the door.”

 

Francis shifted in the armchair. “Do you do have to team up on poor old me?”

 

“Yep,” Gilbert said. “You were the one that teamed up on us about your stuff.”

 

“They are my belongings though.” Francis put the plate on the table with more force than necessary.

 

Gilbert turned towards Antonio when he tugged on his sleeve. Antonio put a hand over his mouth as he spoke into Gilbert’s ear. “You did just say that Francis teamed up, he’s only one person.”

 

“Well he has enough snark for two — and do you really have to whisper so loudly because, man, that was not a whisper at all.”

 

“The man with enough snark for two is listening,” Francis said.

 

Antonio waved him off. “You can take the plates to the kitchen or something while we gossip about you. Sound good?”

 

“It is only fair if you take the plates to the kitchen since I cooked.” Francis quirked a thin, well-groomed eyebrow. Gilbert’s lip lifted slightly.

 

“Come on, look how comfy me and Gilbert are. Do you really want to force us to get up?”

 

A minute passed before Francis relented and gathered the dishes he could carry in one trip. “You’re lucky that I’m a good person, though you two owe me something.” He winked and turned around.

 

Gilbert looked at the serving dishes still on the table. “What do you think he’s gonna make us do?” He asked.

 

“I don’t know man. But by the looks of things it’s something that belongs behind closed doors,” Antonio replied.

 

“At least it’ll be something we’ll both enjoy them.” Gilbert laughed.

 

Francis returned, a sour look on his face, as if he’d just taken a rather large mouthful of lemon and he picked up more of the remaining dishes.

 

“This would have gone a lot faster if you two would have just helped me instead of sitting there like ignorant lovebirds.”

 

“What makes us ignorant?” Antonio asked.

 

“The fact that you don’t know is what makes you ignorant.” Francis whipped around and took the second load of plates to the kitchen. Clattering was heard, followed by swearing as Francis dropped a knife.

 

“What does make us ignorant?” Gilbert asked quietly once he knew that Francis was out of earshot.

 

“I don’t know, man, I don’t know.” Antonio shook his head, his dark brown locks looked voluminous and bounced. Maybe he had sneakily used Francis’ shampoo quite recently.

 

A few moments later Francis returned again, a gravy stain splattered across his shirt. Gilbert could stop the laugh that escaped from him.

 

“Dude, isn’t that like your best shirt or something?” He asked.

 

Francis nodded curtly, his hands balled into fists. “It is, and now it’s ruined.”

 

“What about washing it twice with two capfuls of washing powder instead of one?” Antonio asked.

 

Francis’ eyes widened. “There is nothing that will fix this shirt now. Only God can save it from its gravy situation.”

 

“Did you just make a gravy pun?” Gilbert asked.

 

“No…” Francis snatched the last of the plates off the table and made for the kitchen. His footsteps were loud as he stomped on the rotten floor, Francis acted like a total drama queen at times.

 

Francis returned shortly with a large wet spot where the gravy had been. It clung to his skin and through the thin fabric, Gilbert could see the lines of his stomach.

 

“So are you ready for the presents ‘cause you guys will really love mine this year.” Gilbert grinned and stood without warning. Antonio gave a noise of complaint when his newfound pillow left, but didn’t stop him from standing.

 

“If you say so, then how about we open yours first?” Francis asked. He sat on the arm of the armchair he had eaten on.

 

Gilbert picked his two gifts up by the necks of the bottles and handed one to each of them, making sure to double check the tag to make sure the right person received the right present.

 

Francis gingerly picked at the tape holding it together and slowly peeled the wrapping paper off at the top to reveal the foil-wrapped cork of the champagne bottle.

 

“Google says that it goes really well with turkey. Though, with that logic, I should have given it to you before so that I could have had some with mine.” Gilbert played with the frayed ends of a scatter cushion. Francis should like his gift, but what if he didn’t? Alcohol was not always the answer.

 

Francis’ face lit up and he looked to Gilbert, “Merci beaucoup. This is a good bottle, you have done your research.”

 

Gilbert’s face felt painful from the broad smile that stretched across it. “I’m glad you say that because I spent two hours on Google and I did not want them to be wasted.”

 

“You’re stupid Gil, you know that anything you give me will be appreciated.”Francis tossed the wrapping onto the floor and put the bottle on the table.

 

“Even if it were me lying naked with a bow on little Gilbert?”

 

Francis’ face lost all its joviality, “Not if you refer to him like that.”

 

There was no shame in referring to parts of himself with things like ‘little’. Even more so when Francis had been the one to attach a pronoun to it.

 

“So can I open mine now?” Antonio asked.

 

“Sure, I know you’ll like this one.” The grin was back on Gilbert’s face and he watched Antonio rip into the wrapping and toss it haphazardly onto the floor.

 

“Man, we’re gonna get pissed on this.” Antonio held the bottle of tequila up for Francis to see.

 

Francis whistled. “That will be a wonderful night.”

 

Antonio put the bottle on the table next to Francis’. “So should we do mine or yours first?” He asked.

 

Gilbert looked at the presents. “How about yours first ‘Toni? That way we can get the good ones over and done with. Y’know, save the worst for last or something like that?”

 

“I’m pretty sure the saying is ‘save the best for last’,” Antonio corrected. He leaned over the arm of the couch and grabbed the gifts. He tossed the smaller of the two to Francis, who caught it with a single hand and passed the larger one to Gilbert.

 

“I’m sorry it’s not much. Work hasn’t been too well and most of my money’s been going towards rent.” Antonio made a point of not making eye contact with either of them and instead focused on his hands that rested in his lap.

 

Gilbert put his hand on Antonio’s shoulder, prompting him to look up. “What about last year when I got a two dollar apron for him and a pair of fuzzy dice for you? We all fall on hard times so don’t worry about it, as Francis said. It’s about giving something from the heart that counts, not what you give.”

 

Antonio smiled, “Thanks. Though yours is more for me than it is for you.”

 

“And so was mine.”

 

Gilbert slipped his thumb under the tape holding the newspaper together. The gift felt mostly soft but he could feel that the one side was hard. The newspaper tore as he slid his thumb across the tape. Even if it was wrapped in newspaper, Gilbert still planned on taking his sweet ass time to unwrap the gift properly.

 

Pink fur was visible at this point. It was soft under his fingers and contrasted with the headline ‘Man Kills Wife in Fit of Rage’ that was printed on the newspaper. He tipped the gift upside down, so that the opened part faced down, and the gift fell onto his lap.

 

Pink bunny slippers with black glass eyes and ears longer than the slipper itself stared up at him. Gilbert ran a hand through the fur again.

 

“You really wanted the dolphin ones, didn’t you?’ Gilbert asked, his mouth open in a barely-there smile.

 

“You know me too well. But these are better, aren’t they?”

 

“And you know me. Thanks! These are going on my feet right now.” Gilbert folded up the newspaper, and then set about undoing the laces of his All Stars. The shoes were a year old at this point and the parts were the canvas met the plastic had started to come loose and a portion of the shoe had begun to run and had been fixed with a healthy dose of glue to hold it in place.

 

Once he got the shoes off he put the bunny slippers on and wiggled his toes. They did feel comfortable. Antonio sure did know what he was doing when it came to buying slippers.

 

(He had bought the dolphin slippers as well)

 

“Now it’s your turn,” Antonio said to Francis. He tried, and failed, to hide his smile.

 

Francis unwrapped the gift and held them up for everyone in the room to see. They were thick socks with the Eiffel Tower stitched onto them in more detail than any sock should bear. In Gilbert’s opinion, they looked cute and he wanted to see Francis wearing them.

 

“Socks?” Francis asked.

 

“You do always complain about how cold the apartment floors are. I was going to get you a pair of old man slippers, you know the ones with the plaid on them, but when I saw these I just had to — and they’re nice and thick so your entire leg will be toasty,” Antonio explained.

 

“Thank you,” Francis said. He set the socks next to the champagne. “I’m sure they’ll come in handy.” He sounded genuine when he said that.

 

Something that Gilbert absolutely loved about both Francis and Antonio was how they were both such real people. Gilbert always feared that he sounded cold and distant, like he stood outside a window when he expressed his sentiments. But whenever he heard Antonio or Francis say something sweet he felt like they were within his heart.

 

“And your gifts Francis?” Antonio asked he picked them up. “They look so nice — I don’t even want to unwrap them.” He passed the small, rectangular gift with Gilbert’s name written on it in elaborate lettering to Gilbert.

 

It didn’t take more than a few seconds before Gilbert pulled off the tape with as much speed as he could without ripping the wrapping. With the amount of gusto he went at it with, he could tell that Francis used good quality wrapping paper.

 

He dropped it when he saw the title of the video game Francis had bought him. “You didn’t.”

 

Francis looked far too smug. “I did. I know you’ve been wanting it for a while and since you like complaining and you complained so much about the previous game, I thought it would be a good idea.”

 

Gilbert turned the box over and skimmed the background details. Francis had just bought him Dark Souls III, a game that had taken hours of his life during the second instalment and now he had a whole shit ton of time that he could spend cursing at their box TV.

 

Even though Gilbert called himself the best at gaming, he only held the title of slightly above average and whenever they played Mario Kart on the Wii — before Gilbert threw his remote at the console in a fit of rage when he didn’t get a strike like he was supposed to while playing bowling, and destroyed it — Antonio would always beat him, with him coming second and Francis somehow always falling off the track. Especially on the course named Wario's Gold Mine. Gilbert still had nightmares on the language Francis had used that day.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Gilbert clutched the box in his hands.

 

Francis looked content at Gilbert’s reaction. “On one condition though. You’re not allowed to play it until after today.”

 

“You’re kidding.” Gilbert’s face dropped.

 

“Not at all. After today you can play it to your heart’s content,” Francis said.

 

Gilbert pursed his lips and directed the hardest glare he could towards Francis in hopes that he would change his mind. But alas, it did not work. Gilbert still kept the container on his lap though. Maybe he could play it in the middle of the night if he wasn’t drunk out his mind by then and unable to see the difference between saving and quitting without saving.

 

Antonio held his still wrapped box in his hands and shook it. No sound came from the box. “It feels empty,” He said.

 

“I assure you, it is not.” A different grin adorned Francis’ face now. His eyes shone brightly and his tongue ran over his lips in anticipation.

 

That made Gilbert want to know what Francis gave to Antonio. He leaned closer to Antonio as he ripped the paper off to reveal a plain brown box.

 

Antonio ripped open the box and he picked up a piece of paper that was in it. “You didn’t have to get such a big box for a piece of paper,” Antonio said, his brows furrowed as he brought the paper up to read it.

 

“But I couldn’t have you guessing what I gave you, now could I?” Francis asked.

 

“I guess not. Now shush, I wanna read it.” Antonio began to read it out loud. “One free coupon for a dinner of your choice prepared by Francis himself. What is this for?” Antonio asked.

 

Francis looked positively sly in that moment. “You like that Italian, no? The one with the messy hair and the attitude worse than Gilbert with a hangover.”

 

“You mean Lovino?” Antonio asked. He still looked confused, Gilbert wanted to do nothing more than to slap puppy ears onto him. Then there wouldn’t be any difference between him and a sad puppy.

 

“I know that you like him, and while it does mean letting you go. I would be happier if you were with Lovino than with us old goats,” Francis said,

 

“You didn’t have to insult us in the process!” Gilbert complained.

 

“What do you mean, I don’t like Lovi in that way.” Even Gilbert could tell that Antonio was lying. He could see the way that his eyes nervously flickered around the room while he flipped over the laminated paper in his hands to show the side with the writing and then Francis’ initials printed on a silver background again and again.

 

“Toni, even I can see those longing looks you send his way.” Gilbert smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I agree with Fran completely, even though I disagree with the old goat part, whatever we have here—” He waved his hand— “This isn’t love, like as in sexual love. I mean I love you, but we’re friends above anything else.”

 

“What if I don’t want to be with Lovi?” The conflict within him was visible and Gilbert felt his heart break when he imagined how Antonio must feel, struggling to choose between two sides.

 

“Then you’re a complete idiot. Our complete idiot, but still an idiot. We knew that us acting like a three-way couple was never going to last from the start. Besides, I would much rather have you as a friend than a boyfriend — I will miss our time in bed though,” Francis finished with a sly smirk.

 

“Are you two sure?” Antonio asked, his eyes wide.

 

Even though Antonio sat right next to Gilbert he felt that more space hovered between them than just a few inches.

 

“We’re sure,” Francis said.

 

“Yeah, you two can find yourselves a nice apartment with proper heating in the winter and you can get yourselves a cat cause you’ll certainly be living in a cat-friendly apartment and when you guys have your wedding I’ll be the best man and Francis’ll be a bridesmaid because I’m pretty sure that he’ll rock whatever dress you guys choose a lot better than me and my spaghetti skin will.”

 

“Thank you.” Tears welled up in Antonio’s eyes and his grin rivalled the sun when it came out after a thunderstorm.

 

It must have been pretty important to Antonio to have him crying. He’d never been much of a crier, until it came to movies. Gilbert could recall clasping Antonio’s hand during Hachiko, Marley & Me, and the first seven minutes of Up, amongst others.

 

“It’s not a problem at all. You don’t need our permission to live your life,” Gilbert said.

 

“Why don’t we pop the champagne? I think it’s a worthy occasion.” Francis already held the bottle in hand.

 

“And then we can wash it down with the tequila Gil got me.”

 

It didn’t take long for them to find suitable glasses, Francis got the only champagne flute they owned, Antonio had a wine glass and Gil felt awkward with his clunky beer mug.

 

Francis stood, one hand resting on the neck of the champagne bottle the other holding it up by the base. He smiled at Antonio and Gilbert — they sat on the brown striped couch. What they planned would be messy but worth it. Francis deftly removed the foil and the cage, and let them drop to the stained carpet. After he had vigorously shaken the bottle to aggravate the champagne.

 

“Fifty bucks of champagne being sprayed into my  mouth here we come.” Gilbert pushed himself forward.

 

Francis cocked his head. “You know it’s rude to let someone know the price of a gift.”

 

“Do I look like I care?”

 

Francis readied his thumb on the cork. Gilbert hoped that it would come off with minimal effort. He grinned madly, this had to be the best use for his present to Francis ever. It was a shame that Francis wouldn’t be able to be a part of it but he had been the one to volunteer to stand behind the bottle with the excuse that his shirt had already been ruined enough that day, and that he didn't want to get alcohol on it.

 

“Ready?” Francis asked.

 

Gilbert nodded.

 

“Yeah, man let’s do this.”

 

Francis popped the cork with minimal effort — they really were making these things cheaper and cheaper every day — Gilbert could easily recall the days where it would take a pair of wire cutters and a corkscrew to open a bottle of champagne.

 

The spray hit Antonio first and he opened his mouth to catch it, laughing like a five year-old-on a sugar rush all the while. It didn’t take long before Francis aimed the spray towards Gilbert. It hit him directly on the cheek but he too opened his mouth.

 

Google had been correct, it was quite good. Gilbert had never been a man for fancy drinks like champagne and wine, preferring to stick with beer when he didn’t want to get drunk and hard drinks like whiskey, rum or tequila (most often stolen from Antonio) when he did want to get drunk. But it tasted good and Gilbert wasn’t going to complain.

 

Until Francis stopped alternating the spray between them and brought the bottle to his lips. A large splash landed on the carpet when he took his finger off of the opening, this caused the pressure to drop and the bottle to stop spraying.

 

“No fair,” Antonio whined. His hair curtained his face and a droplet of champagne ran down his nose and dropped onto his lap.

 

“I can’t let you have all the fun now can I?”

 

Gilbert licked his lips, they tasted like the light and airy champagne. Surely this was what happiness felt like. Not an overflowing joy like the champagne bottle. But the steady rising of bubbles after it had been poured into his beer mug. Contentment.

 

Antonio would begin his life soon and leave them alone. Gilbert did not feel any ill towards him, and Francis would finish university soon and become a linguist — Francis’ interest in languages was not something that Gilbert shared.

 

And soon after that Francis too would go and move out with his much larger salary than a non certified translator and now a salary of someone who worked with languages for a living — he would be in demand with French, English, Spanish and German under his belt — and those were only the languages he had heard Francis speak, there could even be more he knew. Like a nearly forgotten dialect of German or something.

 

While Francis translated romance novels under the guise of someone reconstructing dead and dying languages and Antonio played house with Lovino, Gilbert would be left alone. In this crappy apartment, struggling to pay the rent each month and staring at the champagne stains on the couch and carpets. No longer would he be in an unofficial polyamourous relationship with Francis and Antonio. No longer would he have someone to share a beer and a bowl of Cornflakes with at three in the morning. No longer would he have his closest (and only) friends.

 

Even with the impending loneliness, in this moment Gilbert was content.

 

* * *

 

 

Gilbert tossed the cigarette but off the side of the rusted balcony and watched the glowing ember drift downwards and into a pile of freshly fallen snow. This was the second white Christmas in a row that New York had experienced and it was something that he normally would have been excited about. He made a clicking noise with his tongue — mimicking the memory of Francis opening the champagne bottle and letting it spray exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

 

It had been exactly a year since then. Since the last day that he spent with Antonio and Francis.

 

And he hated himself for it.

 

There were so many regrets he had. He wished that he had spent more time with Antonio instead of neglecting him in favour of Francis’ more thrilling ideas of a fun time instead of sitting on the mismatched couches with a glass of alcohol laced fruit juice and talking about anything and everything like the teenagers they been a few years ago.

 

He wished that he had’ve shown more interest in Francis’ hobbies instead of waving him off and saying that he was too busy playing video games to hear about his latest work or the new novel he was in the middle of.

 

More than anything he wanted to turn back time. He wanted to take himself out of the driver seat of the car. It had been his fault that he swerved the car and careened right into the oncoming traffic.

 

He came out fine — nothing more than a broken arm and a cut above his eye that bled crimson. He still had the scar, a small white line that was only visible if one looked carefully.

 

It had been Francis and Antonio that had pulled the short end of the stick. Francis, the luckier of the two, sat in the front seat with Gilbert, he had been killed instantly the doctors had told him as he leant his head into his one good hand and stifled the tears he did not want to let out.

 

Antonio, on the other hand, had been in the hospital for hours, the endless beeping of the machinery drove Gilbert insane as he prayed for Antonio to make it out alive. Three days passed before Antonio lost the battle and left Gilbert all alone.

 

Just like he would be left anyways. But there was a difference to the loneliness he had been expecting and the loneliness he had gotten.

 

He couldn’t go and call Francis at fuck o’clock in the morning and ask him if he had any good ideas for how to cook an egg that wasn’t frying or hard-boiling. Nor could he rip the blanket from Antonio in the morning to try and warm himself up before he yanked himself from their too-small double bed.

 

The snow on the balcony had thoroughly soaked his denim pants but he didn’t stand yet. His fingers worried the frayed edges at his knee and his other hand hung limply at his side. He leaned his head against the wall and stared up at the sky. It was nearly evening and the sun had retreated behind the horizon made up entirely of man-made building and the clouds loomed in the distance, dark and ominous.

 

Only three presents lay under the Christmas tree this year. Two bottles of red wine and a large book. He had never been the most inventive when he came to Christmas presents but he knew that the recipients would appreciate them.

 

Gilbert stretched and his back popped satisfyingly.He better start getting inside before he froze his arse off or it got stuck to the metal grating of the balcony and he would have to wait until spring to thaw it and allow him to stand.

 

He put his arms out in front of his and stretched both individually and stood. His pant were sopping wet, not that he had to worry about ruining his box of Marlboros, he had just smoked his last one. Gilbert didn’t know when he would be able to buy another pack.

 

Money had been tight since last year ended and Gilbert could barely even afford the bare necessities for living. Dinner usually consisted of peanut butter on bread, not even toast since the toaster packed in around August. Lunch and breakfast were skipped. On a lucky day, he managed to get himself something for a discount when it was past its expiry date at the grocers where he now worked as a cashier.

 

What a totally awesome career for someone like him. Someone who had a maths degree and okay marks in school — someone who had potential.

 

He wiped as much of the snow as he could from his pants. Not that there was much, most of it had melted, and climbed through the window, one leg after the other. The apartment was even more of a mess than it had ever been. While old takeaway containers used to litter it, the place was now a complete pig sty.

 

It annoyed Gilbert more than anything but he lacked the motivation to clean it up. He could barely even make it to the laundromat to shove in his hard-earned quarter for a fresh pair of underwear every few days.

 

He fell face first into the couch. It was scratchy against his face and he wanted to turn to his side so that it didn’t annoy his face as much as it did.

 

Waiting had never been Gilbert’s strong suit.

 

His eyes turned to the three presents under the tree. He had them wrapped in the sleek silver wrapping Francis used last year on his and Antonio’s gifts. The tree’s lights were off. The tinsel glittered angrily at him, as if asking him why he didn’t take it down all year and let it have its year-long hibernation and had instead left it out for all to see.

 

Gilbert shrugged as well as he could while his cheek was pressed against the couch and probably gaining those disgusting red lines one got when pressed against a seam of any kind. They marked two things: a person that had rested well or a person that had given up on life.

 

He knew that he did not fall in the first group, nor did he fall in the second group.

 

A knock at the door startled him from the light doze he had fallen into. Gilbert rolled off the couch and gave an effeminate shriek when his face met the carpet.

 

“I’m coming!” He said and stood quickly. Black spots danced in front of his eyes — oh, how he hated when that occurred when he stood up to quickly — and his limbs jerked as he forced them to get him to the front door through sheer willpower.

 

He opened the door and smiled.

 

“Hallo!”

 

Ludwig tilted his head in acknowledgement and said, “Hello,” back to him.

 

Feliciano waved wildly and grinned back at him, “Hi Gilbert.”

 

Lovino, as usual, just snorted and made a point of not making eye contact. Typical of him, but Gilbert knew that he was excited to see him.

 

Maybe not excited to see the apartment as it dredged up memories of Antonio but Lovino had moved on. He hadn’t found someone else, but he wasn’t stuck in the same rut that Gilbert was.

 

“I’ll get the presents and then we can go?” Gilbert asked, already turning to the tree.

 

“Ooh! You have the tree up, it looks so pretty. Why don’t you turn on the lights so it’ll look even better?” Feliciano waltzed into the apartment, uncaring of the mess surrounding him.

 

“I’ll turn it on when I get home. No use having the lights on if no one’s here to see them, right?” Gilbert didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was still the same tree from last year when Antonio fought viciously with Francis over whether the tree should be silver and green or purple and silver. Gilbert commented that they should just put all three colours and had been met with the shocked looks of both Antonio and Francis as they immediately launched into a tirade about how green and purple did not look good together on a Christmas tree, and especially not with silver.

 

“Do you have everything?” Ludwig asked. He stood stiffly just inside the door, Lovino right next to him. They both looked at the apartment with a critical gaze and Gilbert felt a rush of shame.

 

“Y-yeah, I got it all. It’s just the presents and me this time.”

 

“So you’re not bringing any of your potato bake?” Feliciano asked.

 

“And that’s a good thing. Potatoes are not healthy to eat every day,” Lovino said and turned his harsh gaze to Feliciano.

 

“But Gilbert’s is really, really nice,” Feliciano said.

 

Lovino was about to continue arguing with his brother when Ludwig put a hand on his shoulder and silenced him.

 

“Shall we go, bro?” Gilbert asked Ludwig.

 

“Yes,” Ludwig turned to Feliciano, “This time I’ll drive.”

 

Feliciano flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

  
“Tch, there is no chance in fiery hot hell that I’m letting him drive,” Lovino made a grab for the car keys that Ludwig held.

 

Ludwig pulled them away from Lovino’s swing and raised his brows. “I could say the same for you. Last time I let your drive you ran three red lights.”

 

“There was no one else there, why should I have to wait.” Lovino stepped away from Ludwig.

 

“Rules are there for a reason,” Ludwig said and turned to Gilbert. “Let’s go.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Gilbert followed them out the apartment and locked the door behind him while balancing the two wrapped bottles of wine precariously on Ludwig’s book (The Complete Manual to Everything Automobile).

 

While Francis and Antonio may have left Francis and Antonio shaped holes in his heart there were still Ludwig, Feliciano and even Lovino shaped holes that existed and were filled.

 

And Gilbert was content with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading you awesome people! Comments really do make the world go 'round. Or, at least my world anyways.
> 
> Have an awesome day!!


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